Tragedy
by Dylissia Jane
Summary: He doesn't remember anymore.    No not anymore.    They Do.


Title - Tragedy

Rating – Mature

Chars – Greg Ft Sara

Author Notes – Please R & R while I get back into the writing :)

Disclaimer – I do not own these characters – I'm simply toying for fun :)

Greg leaned against the basin, watching beads of water, cascade from his forehead, through his dark eyebrows, obscuring his eyes, his lashes becoming entrapt in the water droplets, before the trail greedily consumes anything in it's path, before colliding with brazen porcelain How did it get this way.

This was not the only time he had woken from the sound of his own screams. The doctors had labeled it post traumatic stress disorder. Funny how things on paper seem so harmless compared to the reality of it all. The sheer act of remembering the incidents that drove him towards, downing sleeping pills every night before he went to sleep. The sheer unadulterated flashbacks were enough to bring him to the brink.

Expiration dates had seemed more as a suggestion until it all had taken it's toll. Now they seemed more like a harsh reality, with every minute, every second ticking by making it's presence seem more and more apparent in the face of futility.

There were the days where "Greggo" had been tossed around the lab like a loving nickname for a family pet. A mate. Something that resounded intimate – a member of a family. Not that he was no longer part of the family. The sleepless nights, the nightmares, the constant fear of it all replaying in his mind at any given second drove him away from them all.

He didn't want to remember, the smell of burning plastic, those last few seconds when he had turned his back, the sensational bang that left his ears ringing for days, the pounding as he lay on the floor, the smell of his flesh burning, the blood seeping it's way across his forehead, the way his fingertips felt foreign against the flesh that had once been flawless littered with shards of glass. He remembers seeing a mass of brown hair, a struggling Sara reaching out to him, Her eyes wide in shock. Then he remembers nothing.

Nothing but the darkness that consumed him, with the resilient, pounding of his struggling heart, pulsating beneath an half melted lab coat.

The memories replay so frequently, he literally feels the slapping of the film when it all ends.

Resting on the basin he toys with he tiny capsules his become so dependent on. The tiny pills that now controlled his life. He despised them for making him become a zombie. Making him become so unfamiliar with himself that he didn't know who he was.

It's a sentiment that scientists are clever. They are logical yes. But never when it comes to themselves. They gamble, they become addicts to the role that death plays in their career. At least that's how it had been for Greg. Once the joker – The youth had worn away. Leaving bags under his eyes that were seemingly eating away at what little tolerance he had left. His eyebrows were now adorned with worry lines, pinch marks above the bridge of his nose result from frowning all the time.

The laughter was gone – his voice becoming so quiet he rarely knew what he sounded like anymore.

Music wafted throughout his bleak apartment. An extra measure put in place, when those men had beat him. He still cringes when hearing males chanting. It didn't matter what he seemed to do. Demons seemed to haunt him at every corner. Every place he went. Every time he ran. It followed.

There's a sinister darkness that seems to follow you once you've lived through a nightmare. The subtle capability to cope is distinguished when faced with certain scenes in movies, certain lyrics. Certain smells, sounds.

Swallowing the capsules, in his dry cavern of his mouth, swishing the water around, little spurts becoming apparent on his chapped lips, he relives the nightmares once more.

He remembers seeing the concern on loving faces, the way Sara's eyes had held his as he lay on the floor expecting the world to take him. There was no life flashing before his eyes. There was just panic. He remembers the way they had treated him when he returned, when his hands had began to shake. The way they had protected him from what he knew would eventually consume him.

He remembers wanting to put on a brave face.

He remembers the shame.

The shame he felt as Sara spied the scars that sneaked out from behind the collar of his shirt. The way she looked almost disgusted. But not nearly as ashamed as he had been the moment he couldn't face the fear.

And all of a sudden. He stops remembering.

And just lays still.

He doesn't remember anymore.

No not anymore.

They Do.


End file.
